


I'm A Doctor Not a Third Wheel

by Perfect_Square



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: #set after the end of Search For Spock, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-12 13:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12960297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perfect_Square/pseuds/Perfect_Square
Summary: Written for and based off of a conversation I had with Irraya





	1. Messing Around With My Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Irraya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irraya/gifts).



McCoy looked over his Vulcan friend. “So are we going to talk about it or what?”  
Spock glanced up at him from his computer monitor.  
“Talk about what precisely, Doctor?”  
The doctor pointed at his skull and made a tapping motion.  
“I see.” Spock said simply. Spock turned in his swivel chair to face McCoy fully, “and what did you want to discuss about that?”  
The doctor huffed. “Well boundaries for one. And I don’t know… I just kind of hoped you’d say something…”  
Spock raised an eyebrow.  
“Look you green blooded Vulcan” he yelled shrilly “–you were inside my head, and you have not even stopped to say thank you or I don’t know ‘sorry for almost making you catatonic Bones’. Or I don’t know bought me dinner. Or something.”  
Spock raised an eyebrow. “You want me to buy you dinner?”.  
”Damn straight I want you to buy me dinner. I want you to make some god-damned time for me and my feelings you pointy eared bastard!!!”  
“...I’ve been neglecting you?”  
Bones guffawed, “You’ve spent every spare moment alone with Kirk since that Vulcan soul re-fusion ceremony.”  
“He is my husband. It is only logical that I would spend–”  
“And what am I? chopped liver? a nice storage unit? because I’m certainly starting to feel like it.”  
“Leonard” Spock spoke as if to soothe McCoy’s growing hysteria.  
“Jesus Spock.” Leonard huffed. “Do you know what it feels like to carry around someone’s mind in your head and then when it’s done you can’t even get the time of day???!!!”  
Spock said nothing, but his expression was taken aback.  
Leonard sighed, “It feels cheap Spock. It makes me feel cheap.”  
Spock inhaled, and enunciated carefully, “I am sorry Leonard, I did not intend to distress you.”  
“Just make some time for me, okay?” McCoy pleaded.  
Spock’s expression was concerned. “Of course Leonard.” A pause. “Would you perhaps be interested in reviewing Dr. Triak’s latest cell biology research publication after dinner this evening?”  
McCoy’s eyes went wide, “you mean The Triak? Triak of Vulcan?”  
“The very same.”  
McCoy made a sharp inhale, “Oh… you play dirty. fucking bribery. You know I don’t have access to the Vulcan science journals…”  
“Is it not therefore, a logical choice for spending time together?”  
McCoy mumbled a low string of curses of where Spock could shove his logic. “No.” he answered firmly, “It’s not damn logical to spend time reading a paper together like colleagues, when what I damn well need is to feel appreciated as your friend, as your boyfriend…”  
Spock assessed McCoy’s face. “Would I be correct in saying then that you require a romantic gesture as dictated by your cultural norms?”  
“That’s a damn computer way to say it, but yes goddamn it Spock. I ‘require a romantic gesture’ and I needed it yesterday, so you better pull out all the stops for me on this.”  
“Leonard time travel of that nature is expressly forbidden by federation law.”  
“No. Spock. I mean give me an extra romantic evening tonight to make up for being late.”  
Spock regarded McCoy for a long moment, “I shall endeavor to do so, Doctor.”


	2. Dinner Date

“Well this is certainly something” McCoy mumbled as he entered Spock’s quarters.  
The lighting was set to dim, and littered about the room were candles and rose petals, in the corner was a drawn out picnic blanket, a basket and a star chart.  
The center of the room was occupied by a square table draped in a white lace tablecloth, and set with silver tableware and crystal glasses.  
Meanwhile the overhead speakers were playing smooth jazz.  
Spock was wearing a grey suit and a matching tie. McCoy whistled–half at the elaborate set up and half at the dangerously attractive man in front of him.  
“Doctor,” Spock sauntered over to his doorway.  
McCoy licked his lips as he gave Spock a once over.  
“Spock” McCoy rumbled back.  
Spock distinctly recalled the Doctor’s preference for cooked meals. He had therefore taken the time to gather the ingredients similar to those necessary . He had to approximate the vegetables with similar Vulcan varieties. Set on the table before them Spock had served them roasted brussel sprouts in a sherry-maple vinaigrette, vegan cornbread, and vegan aoli. There were no animal products available for consumption on Vulcan and it would not have sat well with Spock to serve such a dish either way.  
-  
Spock did not know what to say. Conversation with McCoy was generally easy. They had a predictable formula for flirtation. They’d generally just start in on something about their respective physiological or cultural differences and just tease each other. Or they’d tease each other about science. It had never been hard before, but the usual formula did not seem to apply here.  
McCoy decided to speak. “Thanks for doing this,” he said gesturing over the decorated crew quarters, and dinner table. “This is lovely. …I did not know that you listened to jazz music.”  
“I am pleased that you would say so.” Spock answered back, “As for the jazz, my studies of earth customs indicate that it was the most appropriate choice. I hope I was not in error.”  
“It was a good choice,” offered McCoy.  
Spock cleared his throat, “As for the topic at hand. You should know, I would not have placed my Katra in just any person on the enterprise…” Spock darted his eyes away, “It is an extremely intimate thing… Had you not been there… I would not have… I would not have entrusted it to anyone else.”  
“I know.”  
They were silent; the implication heavy: Spock would have died, which would have broken McCoy’s heart, but still Spock’s choice distressed him.  
McCoy spoke at last, looking up into Spock’s eyes with a heavy feeling, “Do you remember… when you were in my head?”  
Spock closed his eyes as if searching through a muddled memory, “Yes” he answered.  
McCoy licked his lips, “Do you remember… do you remember when I was standing over your body?”  
Spock squeezed his eyes even tighter frowning slightly as he brought the distant memory to the front of his consciousness. The Vulcan caught his breath and lurched forward as the grief in the memory consumed him. The scene played before his consciousness. He was McCoy. His lover and friend was dead, but not really dead. A floating consciousness trapped inside him. McCoy, he, was scared, and lost, and angry. Scared of losing the Vulcan again. Scared of that blossoming hopeful feeling. That feeling like just maybe the sun was coming out again. Scared that it would be ripped away, and the grief would come crashing down again. This time the grief would break him. He was not strong enough to lose him twice. He could not shoulder that pain twice. It would kill him. And at the same time, he felt so… lost. Like he could feel himself going crazy. And he wished so badly Spock were here, properly here so that he would not have to be so scared. And he was angry. Spock had left him all alone with his Katra and now McCoy did not know what was going to happen to him…  
Spock pulled himself out of the memory, shaking. “I do now, doctor” Spock said his breaths still heaving from the memory of his lover’s pain. He calmed his breathing, “I am… so sorry.”  
“I’m glad you did not die.” McCoy answered.  
“I know.”  
“but I’m still upset that you put me in that position.”  
“I know.” Spock looked down at his food, “I can not apologize for going into the reactor core room. It was necessary for the good of the many. But– ”  
“I don’t want you to apologize for putting your Katra in me.” McCoy interjected  
“I should have asked.” Spock finished. “There was not time, but if I had spoken to you previously about the nature of Vulcan burials and katras you would have known. You would not have needed to be so afraid.” He swallowed. “You would not have left my body behind–and”  
McCoy scoffed trying to lighten the mood, “Yeah, that would be the day. You never talk about Vulcan anything until the last possible moment… Do you remember when you nearly died because you could not tell anyone that you were going through Pon Farr? Or that other time you nearly died because you did not want to ask anyone to go through with Pon Farr with you? Or that time you did not tell anybody you had a sister until she showed up for your earth-wedding? Or the time–”  
“I get the picture” interrupted Spock.  
McCoy smiled charmingly, batting his eyes.  
Spock continued, “I must concede you have a point.”  
McCoy’s jaw dropped as it always did in such instances.  
“logically,” Spock said, “you are no out-worlder.” He wanted to reach for his boyfriend’s face, but refrained. “You are ashayam. And now you have held my soul. There are certain things you should know.”  
McCoy’s jaw continued to hang.  
“But,” Spock said, glancing around the room at the signs of his carefully planned evening. “Perhaps another time, when we are not in the midst of evening plans,” Spock spoke lowly.  
McCoy, smiled slyly, aware that the Vulcan was attempting to put the moves on him.

"And what would those plans be?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to rewrite this chapter, so I wrote this:
> 
> The lighting was dim. It took a moment for McCoy’s eyes to adjust. But he could see the small flames emanating from the antique candles on the table right away. The light seemed to catch and flicker through a pair of crystal glasses that were filled with a red liquid, McCoy assumed was wine. And beneath the glasses there was a white tablecloth. McCoy was not sure but it looked like lace.  
> Quietly, perhaps even nervously, a familiar Vulcan emerged from the shadows. Spock was wearing a black tuxedo. The image was a contrast to the previous times Leonard had seen Spock in a tux. Usually, he’d sport grays and muted colors so as to blend in better on strange planets. The last time he’d seen him in a black this striking, Spock had just returned from Vulcan. He’d been stiff and withdrawn then, still making up his mind about emotions and logic, and atrophied from the expression of his feelings. This was a contrast to that too. Spock stood with his hands behind his back looking at McCoy as if waiting for something.  
> McCoy took in the rest of the room more pointedly; beyond the table top Spock had set up a star projector facing the back wall. It flowed smoothly from one alien sky to another, but McCoy recognized the view from his latitude of Earth immediately. Knowing the Vulcan he probably had every one of these memorized. On the far counters there were more candles. Dimmer. McCoy recognized them from watching Spock meditate. They were scented with a pleasant Vulcan herb. Hidden, pointedly out of easy view, McCoy could see the plates of food that would no doubt serve as their dinner this evening, a heart-shaped box of chocolates and an unlit singing candle.  
> It looked like the Vulcan had put real effort into this meal, which pleased Leonard; he gave the Vulcan an awkward smile. Even after all this time, McCoy found it hard to admit when he was happy with something. Being gruff was much more in keeping with his style.  
> The Vulcan quirked up his own lips ever so slightly. It made Leonard feel radiant.  
> The moment lasted for probably around 2 or 3 seconds. Leonard did not know. Spock would know. Spock would have told him it lasted for exactly 2.7938 seconds or something.  
> Spock cleared his throat. “I have prepared dinner as you requested, Doctor. If you’d have a seat...”  
> “Leonard,” Leonard answered back automatically. Jim had gotten Spock to stop using his title years ago.  
> “Leonard” Spock repeated back. Perhaps it was harder with him. They’d always had a tendency to use pet-names with each other. Well if calling Spock a green-blooded Vulcan counted as a pet name. Either way, McCoy took a seat dutifully while Spock disappeared momentarily to retrieve their dinner from the kitchen.  
> Spock had made them what looked like Brussel Sprouts, cornbread and some sort of dip.


End file.
